


Hidden Behind the Leaf

by Makkoska



Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Bad Sex, Canonish AU, Hate Sex, Implied Incest, M/M, Regret, but something like that, founder's era, not-exactly-happy-ending-au, slowly getting better, terribly uncooperative, this is a damned tricky pairing if you ask me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-21 21:40:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3705551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makkoska/pseuds/Makkoska
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“After my death, do not kill Madara. Uchiha and Senju must not fight each other ever again.” The peace is made but Tobirama and Madara might find the price to pay too high. Canonish AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The bittersweet taste of fate

**Author's Note:**

> About two months ago, I was asked if I’ll write this pairing. I said hell will sooner freeze over. Yet, I started to think if I can see a way to make it happen and here’s the result, while hell, last time I checked, was still bubbling.
> 
> Direct quotes from the manga, as usual, are coming from Mangapanda/Mangareader ‘s version.

 

_The bittersweet taste of fate_

_We can't outrun the past_

 

 

*/*/*

 

They shake hands. Their clans gathering around them don’t make a single noise, it’s almost if no one but the two of them were present. Maybe everyone holds their breath in fear the magic of the moment, the magic of peace will be broken if they so much as sigh.

 

Madara makes sure his expression remains impassive as he looks at the Senju leader’s face, that his grip is strong, but not crushing. They have come this far, to finish centuries of war with a formal handshake - he won’t ruin it with showing his emotions.

 

Tobirama’s face is as blank as he hopes his is. It’s only his reddish eyes that burn with loathing. Madara is not bothered by that. Large as his hatred might be, it can’t possibly match his own.

 

They have come this far, leading their respective clans, and for them only, Madara is willing to shake hands with the murderer of Izuna. He tells himself this firmly. He is the leader of the Uchiha, and he has nobody else but them. He must do what’s in their best interest.

 

It’s a joke, and a cruel one for that. They did nothing for this peace. Madara stopped to believe long ago in this stupid, childish pipedream, and he’s sure Tobirama never for a moment thought is can, or should, come true.

 

They are just humouring the dying wish of a foolish man, pretending they have the good of their people in their minds.

 

He finally lets Tobirama’s hand go, and the tension in the crowd seems to ease. The first cheers are rather timid, but they gain strength. Madara stays around for a short while then escapes at the first opportunity when his absence won’t be considered terribly rude.

 

He climbs the cliff and looks down to the valley. The village will be built there, just as they planned as kids.

 

 _Let’s build our settlement here!_ He hears Hashirama’s voice in his ear, loud and irritating in his enthusiasm, yet so irresistible. _Let’s make it a place where children won’t have to kill each other!_

 

“You’re the only one who comes up with such stupid ideas,” he replies to this echo from the past. “I’ve told you this all those years ago. But now look - your dream will become reality.”

 

There’s no answer, of course. He’s alone. There’s a strange feeling in his throat, a lump that makes air difficult to draw. Not unlike fury, but there’s no passion behind it, just sadness. Madara ignores it. He will not cry. Dying was Hashirama’s choice. A stupid, naive choice it was, but still, he can’t do anything else but accept it now.

 

*/*/*

 

Tobirama finds him on the cliff - apparently it’s no longer a secure hiding place. The view has changed so drastically, the forest all but disappeared from the valley, instead there are rows and rows of houses, the village building rapidly.

 

“The Lords of the Fire country arrived,” the Senju barks as a kind of greeting. Reluctantly Madara lowers the leaf he’s holding in front of his eye and turns towards him. He hates to see the white haired man here. This used to be _their place -_ Hashirama’s and his. He’s sure Tobirama knows it too. He always seemed to be around his brother, keeping an eye on him, knowing too much about him.

 

Yet, he’d been so shocked by his actions on that fateful day. Too shocked to react - just as Madara was. He’s already loathed the man for being a Senju, for killing Izuna – now he hates him even more for being unable to stop Hashirama, just as he despises himself for it, too. They should have been quicker, they should have seen him sticking true to what he’d said. Madara was battered and desperate - all he wanted was everything to end.  But what is this bastard’s excuse..?

 

The meeting with the Daimyo goes as planned. He and his counsellors are all very pleased with the village and the purpose behind it. Tobirama talks in short sentences about his brother, about how he was always aiming to make his dream of a shinobi settlement, a place that allies clans, come true. How he always wanted to achieve peace, to put an end to generations long battles with the Uchiha. How he was willing to go to the extreme to make his dream come true, how he never wavered, never shed his optimism, his faith of being able to do it.

 

_“Can’t we settle it, like we used to? Just the two of us?”_

 

_“You know we can’t… I’m not the same as you anymore...I don’t have any siblings left - and I can’t trust you.”_

 

_“How can we make you trust us?”_

 

Tobirama’s deep voice is even, emotionless almost, as he talks about Hashirama’s dedication.

 

“He was thirteen, when he decided that takes what it takes, he’ll make it happen. He never wavered in his resolve. Ever since he…” there’s a slightest of pause that maybe nobody but the Uchiha notices, “met Madara, he lived with the firm aim in his mind that the two clans have to come to peace, to form an alliance.”

 

_“If you want to straighten things out, then either kill your brother… or kill yourself. Then, we’ll be even. Then I will trust your clan.”_

 

“And when it came to proving his honesty in the matter, he didn’t shun away even from the largest sacrifice - to give his life for this peace he so craved.”

 

Madara raises his head, thrusts his chin out and meets Tobirama’s accusing glare unflinching.

 

“He was a truly noble man,” the Daimyo says on a light voice, on the tone of someone who can’t possibly comprehend the terrible weight of Hashirama’s deed.

 

“He was,” Tobirama agrees still. He doesn’t take his eyes off Madara, as if the dark haired man would need reminder of what happened. As if he’s not forced to re-live it every single day, in this village Hashirama dreamt for them, in this peace that will never become real between the very two of them.

 

_“After my death, do not kill Madara. Uchiha and Senju must not fight each other ever again. Vow on your fathers and on your grandchildren who aren’t born yet.”_

 

“Land of Fire is welcoming this new formulation. We are most supportive of your alliance,” one of the counsellors says. “There are just small formalities left, like agreeing on your leader. Have you thought about a name for your settlement yet?”

 

_“Farewell.”_

 

“The village...Hidden Behind The Leaf,” Madara says, ignoring the surprised glances from the Daimyo and his company. He didn’t speak up yet on this gathering. He’s thinking about the leaf that he put in his pocket when Tobirama disturbed him, the leaf with the hole at its middle. He’s thinking about the almost-forgotten times of childhood, sitting on the plain above the valley, looking down at the forest below, imagining the village they will build there with Hashirama. If he concentrated, he could even vision the houses through the holes of the canopy. What a pleasant, carefree dream it was.

 

*/*/*

 

“Things can’t continue like this! You have to respect the rules we set, just like anyone else! No, you actually have to respect them more, for you should provide an example for your whole clan…!”

 

“The rules _you_ have set, you mean!

 

They are at each other’s throat, only figuratively speaking so far, although Madara’s fingers are already itching for his blade. It’s eerily liberating, after these months of keeping their masks in place, of cooperation and negotiations when all he wanted to do it was to cut Tobirama’s throat open and watch him suffocate on his own blood. To grab his white hair and beat his head against the wall until nothing but a formless mass of flesh and bones is left where his face used to be, so he never again will remind Madara of Hashirama, so he won’t be able look at him with accusation in his eyes.

 

“The Senju and Uchiha are leading this village as we claimed in front of the Daimyo. That means you and me, as their heads.”

 

“Still, it was _you_ who was chosen to be this _Hokage,”_ Madara spits. “I’ll believe in your words, accept your leadership when I see _you_ trusting and respecting my kin.”

 

“That will never happen”, Tobirama growls. As infuriating it is, Madara finds his honesty refreshing. They both know very well what the other thinks of them and their clans, so why pretending? “I know how you are. I know how your kind is. I’ll never trust you, or accept you.” In the heat of the argument he leans in so close that the Uchiha can feel his breath on his face. His nearness is repulsing and threatening, increasing the urge to hurt him, kill him, until Madara is not even sure why he keeps resisting it. But he still doesn’t reach for his weapons, just laughs into the other man’s face, cold and humourless.

 

“Do you think we need your trust or acceptance? Konoha is as much my village as yours,” although it doesn’t feel like it. The place, the houses, the people all seem alien. Often he walks the streets alone, and wonders if it would be different with Hashirama by his side. But Tobirama doesn’t need to know that. He doesn’t like this place, nor does he need it, but he won’t back down from the murder of Izuna. Just to defy him, Madara is willing to claim this cursed village as his own.

 

“You think so? It was my brother who dreamt this place, who fought for it, who sacrificed his life for it…! I’m the one who carries on his will…”

 

“You pompous fool,” Madara almost, but just almost, can’t resist the urge to shove him back by his shoulders, but decides against touching him in the very last moment. He doesn’t want this pointless argument to degenerate even further. “It was me who was with him when _we_ made up this dream, it was me who he wanted to ally with, it was me…” _who he died for._ He does not say it, just lets the sentence fade into the sudden silence. He sees on Tobirama’s suddenly painful expression that he knows what was left unsaid.

 

He should feel victorious, though in reality he’s anything but. Because that might be the truth, but a terrible, incomprehensible truth it is.

 

Madara turns on his heels and leaves the Hokage office. There’s nothing they can discuss or argue about further.

 

*/*/*

 

Nightmares are his constant companion. They haunt him every night, so he tries to avoid sleep, getting thinner and more irritable with each day, until one glance to the dark circles under his eyes is enough for any of his clan members to sheer off his way.

 

His reputation drops to an all-time low, until he finds that the only person who’s not afraid of him is the one he’d like the most to steer clear of him - Senju Tobirama.

 

It’s very hard to look at him and not think about the dreams he has when he can’t evade sleep any longer.

 

He keeps reliving Izuna’s death. How he wasn’t fast enough, careful enough, strong enough to save him. The flash of Tobirama’s blade as it ran through Madara’s teen brother. The way he was trembling in his arms as they escaped the battlefield, leaving their comrades behind.

 

Hashirama’s outstretched hand he did not accept.

 

_“Don’t, brother. Don’t let them fool you.”_

 

Those endless days Izuna spent between life and death, with Madara sitting vigil next to him. His last deed before he passed away. His empty eye sockets, the blood dripping from their corners still, his heaving, uneven breaths.

 

His warning, not to trust the Senju.

 

In his dreams, Madara sees all of this again. He never dreams of happy times, of an age what he and his brothers spent together, only about losing them, one by one. In his sleep he relieves the painful fury over being unable to keep his promise of protecting Izuna.

 

_“When we build our settlement, I’ll watch over my little brother from here!”_

 

His determination to carry on his will, even after he loses the support of his clan, when defectors are starting to go over to the Senju.

 

_“I’m not the same as you anymore...I don’t have any siblings left - and I can’t trust you.”_

 

_“How can we make you trust us?”_

 

When it’s not Izuna’s death haunting him, it’s Hashirama’s. When he dreams of that day, the visions are obscure, full of blood, the clatter of a discarded armour, the flash of a blade, a body falling to the ground with a thud. Hearing the laughter of a young boy while watching the signs of decay appearing on the face of a man’s corpse.

 

Maybe it’s like that as he doesn’t need to close his eyes, to fall asleep to recall the actual events. That last battle. His ultimatum.

 

_“Either kill your brother… or kill yourself…”_

 

He didn’t think Hashirama would really do it. It was desperation and bitterness making him say it. He thought that this would make the Senju put an end to the war with running his sword through him, that he would finally free him of the unbearable weight of this imperfect word.

 

Even when he was taking his armour off, thanking him for the choice he was given, when he told Tobirama to vow on not killing him, that Uchiha and Senju must not fight again… Madara still didn’t comprehend what was happening.

 

He was just lying there on his back, battered and bruised as Hashirama readied his dagger. It all seemed so unreal, the whole conversation, his old friend's aims. Why would he do it anyway? Why would he make the sacrifice to keep Madara alive? That peace he was talking about - the easiest way to achieve that would have been killing Madara, and he had to know it. His clan would have been left with no other choice but to submit to the Senju.

 

Why was he doing it? It was incomprehensible.

 

_“Farewell.”_

 

It was that peaceful expression on his face that finally alerted Madara, that made him move. Despite his sore, protesting muscles, he sprang up. From the corner of his eye, he saw Tobirama sprint towards his brother as well.

 

They were too late. The both of them.

 

Hashirama was a very experienced shinobi. With killing and healing so many people, he knew exactly where to thrust that blade in for a quick, sure death.

 

Tobirama reached him a moment earlier, but still, all he could do was to catch him before he fell to the ground.

 

“Brother!” he called out in desperation, but Hashirama had already said his last words.

 

The younger Senju raised his head and his eyes met with Madara’s. The Uchiha could have said: “Now we are really even. Now you know what I felt when Izuna died,” but those words never came. He hardly could do more than stare, horror stricken, at his old friend, the last man on this cursed earth who cared for him.

 

They were silent. Everyone around them was silent. He waited for Tobirama to call out to his men to kill him. Madara wouldn’t have even tried to defend himself. But he didn’t call out.

 

He lay Hashirama’s body down on the ground with more tenderness than Madara would have thought him being capable of, then stood to face him. His expression was blank, his eyes as empty as Madara felt his own heart to be.

 

With an unconscious gesture he opened his arms slightly, and he was sure the white haired man understood what it meant. A welcome for the deadly strike if he wanted to finish this for good. Madara was ready to follow Hashirama to the other side then and there.

 

“I’m…” the Senju had to clear his throat before he continued, though his voice was still hollow, as if coming from somewhere far away. “I’ll honour my brother’s last wish. I expect you to do the same, after his sacrifice.”

 

_“Then, we’ll be even. Then I will trust your clan.”_

 

There’s no escaping from this memory, whether he’s asleep or awake. Everything in Konoha reminds Madara of what happened, above of all the man who he’s forced to work together with. If it would be possible to hate him even more, that would be a reason for it.

 

*/*/*

 

They are arguing again. It’s part of their routine, getting through the day somehow, gritting their teeth as they force themselves to cooperate. Reports. Jobs to delegate. Petty disputes. Arrangements. Newcomers to the rapidly growing village. Heads bowed low before Senju Tobirama, the First Hokage and his main councillor, Uchiha Madara, the leaders of the founder clans. Glances are shot at them, curious, hungry for information when they disagree on something. They pull through it somehow, their hands clenched into fists, fingers  digging into forearms under sleeves, so it won’t be so obvious to their people what an effort it takes to them to remain civil to each other.

 

On better days, when they finish their chores, one of them quickly escapes from the other’s presence. But there are times when neither of them is willing to back off from the conflict, when it all just becomes too much, and they are at each other’s throat as soon as they remain alone.

 

Anything can bring the argument forth. Suspected or confirmed favouritism over their own clans, the way they divide work, the jobs the village accepts or denies, who to send on missions, the new institutes they plan to create and the way to make them work.

 

In truth the arguments are always about their pasts and the deaths of their brothers, but this they try to forgo. There’s such a thin line separating these arguments from ending in bloodshed as it is.

 

It’s not as if Madara likes these sessions, where they hiss, growl, shout curses and accusations at each other. It’s not as if he’s looking forward to them. But he has to admit to himself that only when they do this, does he truly feel alive these days. His blood boils, his chakra swirls just under his skin, ready to be released. The urge to kill leaves an unpleasant, bitter taste in his mouth, but it’s still better than feeling nothing, to that dull, faraway way minutes run after minutes, blending into hours, days and weeks, making him feel as if he’s not even present.

 

He doesn’t know what to do with this village, with this dream come true without Hashirama. Doesn’t know how he should feel about his clan, who were ready to turn their backs on him, about all these people looking at him with fear and distrust.

 

But he knows how to relate to Tobirama. Anger and hatred - he welcomes their familiarity. They make him focus, to live the moment.  They are predictable, safe with their well-practiced choreography.

 

Or it has been so far, until Tobirama unexpectedly breaks the rules. He brings Hashirama into it, something they were careful to avoid in these past few months. He’s accusing Madara for the way he died of course, for not yielding to peace, yet _enjoying_ the benefits of it now, when he did nothing for it…

 

The blood is pounding so loud in Madara’s ear that he hardly comprehends every second word, but that’s still more than enough. He won’t stand for being called a traitor, a coward - to be blamed for Hashirama’s death. He moves fast and slams Tobirama back against the wall. The Senju is a competent shinobi, but if it comes to who’s the stronger, he won’t be able to stand his ground opposing Madara.

 

“You and your damned brother,” the Uchiha growls. “Trying to set my life. He chose his path, he chose death. If you’re angry with that choice, go and spit on his grave!”

 

“You hypocrite bastard,” the albino grabs the front of his shirt, baring his teeth in a snarl. “Of course he chose it - you didn’t really leave him any other way!”

 

“He could have killed you! Or he…”

 

“Could have killed _you,_ is that it? You knew very well that he would never do that!”

 

“How could have I known?!” Madara feels trembling with anger, and with an emotion he can’t really name. “That would have been the most logical choice!” The only logical choice. “Anyone else would have done it!”

 

“You bloody idiot,” suddenly Tobirama turns their position, forcing Madara against the wall. His head hits it with a thud, but it’s not the pain that shocks him, but the fact itself that he let the younger man have the upper hand like this. It must be that strange feeling weakening him, which he now recognizes as guilt. “He did everything for you! Ever since he was a kid! You knew this very well!”

 

“That’s not true,” he says, suddenly feeling weak. Tobirama slaps him across the face.

 

That breaks the spell. They struggle, and if someone would watch them now, they would die with laughter. The two strongest shinobi of the country, wrestling like angry brats, trying to beat the other, to relieve their frustrations without putting their chakra behind the blows, trying to keep silent after the shouting, so if there’s anybody left in the Hokage building who didn’t escape when their argument started to get out of hand, won’t rush in now, to the sounds of fighting.

 

With the mask of civilization gone, Tobirama growls, hits, claws and bites and Madara gives as good as he gets, afraid that if they stop only for a moment, they’d both just break down.

 

The Senju barely manages to jerk his head away, so Madara’s nails only graze down his face, but avoid his eyes. That gives him a bit more space, so he rolls to put more distance between them, kicks the other in the stomach when the Senju makes a dash at him, but that only keeps him away for a heartbeat. It would be easy to throw him over his shoulder still - Madara is on his hands and knees, with the white haired bastard flush against his back - but he freezes as his bodies make contact.

 

Both of them are still for a moment, heaving. Tobirama’s cock is pressing against the back of his thighs, hard and demanding. Madara refuses to assess this new situation, he simply doesn’t protest when the other drags his pants down, when he opens his own.

 

It’s not about joy, for either of them. Tobirama pushes into him with minimal preparation, cursing under his breath as Madara’s body is resisting him. There’s no finesse in his movements as he jerks his hips up violently, as his fingers dig into Madara’s waist so hard they’ll leave bruises.

 

It hurts, not the deep, dangerous way how wounds of battle do, with the kind of pain Madara learned to ignore long years ago, but with burning humiliation. He could stop it - he _should_ stop it, if he wouldn’t welcome the ache. It’s not… it’s not punishment, he refuses to acknowledge this act as admittance on his part that he’s guilty in something terrible.

 

It’s very simple, he tells himself, as he braces himself on his hands, so the force of Tobirama’s jerky thrusts won’t throw him down, face first, on the floor. It’s just easier to focus on this superficial pain, it helps to ignore the throbbing of those wounds laying so much deeper down.

 

It’s not about Hashirama, the way he died, or about Tobirama’s accusation that he died because of him. Least of all it is about Tobirama, there’s just no one else who’d dare to treat him this way and make him forget.

 

It’s just fucking. Madara has never been with a man before, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever try it again, after this. There’s no pleasure in it, only pain, but that’s how it should be.

 

It’s over very soon. Tobirama grunts and shakes as he releases his seed inside. There’s a lewd, wet should, as he pulls his softening cock from Madara’s ass.

 

It takes the Uchiha a few heartbeats only to gather his wits, to stand, to tug up his pants, ignoring the sticky wetness dripping down his thighs. He doesn’t look at Tobirama as he storms out. But when he slams the door, he sees for a moment that the Senju is still kneeling on the ground, head bowed, motionless.

 

*/*/*

 

Cleaning himself is quite painful and humiliating. There’s no rush of adrenaline in his veins to take him through the process. Not much more than ten minutes passed, yet he already can’t understand how could he let Senju Tobirama fuck him. Of the many ugly things he committed in his life, this was the most degrading.

 

He scoops up water in his hand and grits his teeth as he brings it to his backside, pushing his fingers up his sore hole, washing out blood and semen. Disgust twists his stomach. He has a man’s spunk - not just any man’s, but the one he hates above all - up inside his arse. He is bleeding because he let him mount him, let him stick in his cock and rip him open.

 

He needs more hot water, although he suspects no amount of washing will make him feel clean anytime soon.

 

How on earth could anyone enjoy this act? Was it like this only because it was with Tobirama, with whom they have not a single gentle emotion to share? If it was someone else, would it have been different?

 

If it was…

 

_Hashirama…_

 

He shakes his head, trying to chase the thought away. Still, when he closes his eyes, he sees his old friend, smiling his embarrassed smile. He couldn’t even talk to him properly ever after their last meeting on the riverbank - more than a decade ago. He didn’t know the man he’d grown up to be, and now he lost the chance to learn more about him, for it for good. He’d only ever met him in battles, and now that will never change. He’s no basis - _no right -_ imagining having sex with him.

 

Yet, it’s not as if he could sink any lower after what happened today.

 

He is still slick with his own blood, and it’s too easy to imagine it is Hashirama’s member sliding up him and not his own fingers.

 

 _“I’m sorry,”_ he’d say when Madara hisses in pain. _“I’ve never done this before. Do you want me to stop?”_

 

The Uchiha shakes his head, slowly pushing two of his fingers up his body. It’s still not really pleasant, but it wouldn’t be outright painful, rather just uncomfortable if not for the torn wounds inside. He moves his hand experimentally, and his fingertips brush over some spot inside that makes his whole body shudder in unexpected excitement.

 

 _“Is that better?”_ his imaginary Hashirama asks and he breaths a _Yes_ in reply. So much better. He pictures the two of them standing back to chest, the Senju moving slowly, carefully, gently inside him. His cock hardens, and he doesn’t even tries to hold back any more. He grabs it, stroking it from base to tip, rubbing his fingers over the slit.

 

_“Do you want more?”_

 

“Yes, do it harder.”

 

It still hurts as he moves his fingers deep inside, but now the pain is combined with pleasure, with light-headed arousal. He is gasping and moaning, lost in his fantasy. He imagines strong arms around him, the promise of a better future, if only…

 

“Do it harder, Hashirama!”

 

_“Madara…Madara...”_

 

He comes, ejaculating against his palm, his fingers slipping from his arse. He quickly finishes his washing. He wants to put on clothes and pretend he never did this.

  
Lying on his tatami, on his stomach as that way he’s less conscious of the pain in his backside, he feels so lonely he wouldn’t be surprised to go out to the streets and find the whole world has disappeared.

 

_*/*/*_

_TBC…_


	2. Destined to find an answer

_Destined to find an answer_

_A strength I never lost_

 

 

*/*/*

 

The level of weirdness of their relationship after that… _incident_ reaches a new height.

 

Tobirama doesn’t simply avoid any opportunity of conflict - he either pretends Madara isn’t there, or - and this really freaks the Uchiha out - agrees with him on things that he _knows_ they have a differing opinion on.

 

It takes him days to recognise this behaviour for what it is - guilt. At first it fills him with malicious glee. It almost makes him want to bring it up, to throw it in his face, with a _what have you done,_ and let him take all the blame.

 

What holds him back from doing so, he’s not sure. Maybe simply the fact that he allowed it to happen. Or that if Tobirama thought it through, he surely realized that by force, he couldn’t have made Madara submit to him. Is he even feeling guilty about hurting him? Maybe he thinks that he’s got tainted by touching an Uchiha, and feels guilty about what his clan would say if they’d learned about it, who could tell?

 

Very soon the novelty of this wears off. Madara finds himself craving their arguments. His days just seem to drift off aimlessly without them.

 

So he provokes it. When they finish for the day, he blocks Tobirama’s way, so he can’t escape the office. Tells him that his decisions are worth shit, that his work is meaningless. Picks up a stack of carefully arranged reports from the desk, and throws them in his face.

 

That does it.

 

Standing face to face - carefully keeping an arms’ length distance - they shout at each other, belittling the other’s lineage, abilities, and methods of organizing reports.

 

It’s not as if Madara is enjoying it… it’s not as if he can’t ignore that spark of some emotion, something he can’t really place, but is sure has no place between them, in Tobirama’s eyes. He’s just doing this as he knows no better way to retain his sanity.

 

That night, after a very long time, Madara finally gets a few hours’ of restful sleep.

 

*/*/*

 

“What the hell do you want?”  

 

Tobirama keeps his expression unreadable. It’s so surreal, seeing him standing before Madara’s door. They never meet outside the office. The surprisingly warm autumn sun illuminates his face in a gentle light, colouring his pale skin. He looks out of place, and really, he is. What business can he have, visiting him at home? Madara doesn’t even know exactly where the Senju lives and it’s unnerving that he knows which his house is.

 

“I thought you might want to come with me today. To Hashirama.”

 

He’s impossible to read. Maybe he went mad, Madara thinks. Maybe he means going to the cemetery. The second is somewhat more probable.

 

“Why would I want to go with you to anywhere?” he carefully keeps his tone neutral.

 

“Today is his birthday. I’m visiting his grave and I thought…” he falters, draws his white brows together, before finding his voice again, “...that you might want to join me.”

 

“What is the meaning of this?” Madara demands. If this is a trap, then it’s the weakest trap ever set.

 

“Up to you,” Tobirama shrugs. He looks not exactly at Madara’s face, but rather somewhere above his shoulder.

 

“Why are you inviting me?”

 

“Because…” he frowns, closing his eyes for a moment. He looks as if what he’s about to say is hurting him. “You were… important to him. He was in… well, he was holding you in… high regard. He would want you to come.”

 

They walk in silence. Madara doesn’t look back at the people who stare at them, surprised to see the two of them together. As much as they try to keep a face, it’s a well-known fact that they can’t stand each other. He’s busy enough with his thoughts and that helps to ignore the gawkers.

 

He didn’t know when Hashirama’s birthday was. He would have assumed somewhere in springtime and not in late October. There was so little he actually knew about the other man. He was familiar with the boy he used to meet on the riverbank, and although there were many things they could never discuss, he fancies thinking, in that age and time they knew each other better than anyone else. They were sharing the most important thing, their secret dreams, after all.

 

But the man he’d grown into? Only so much he could learn about someone who he kept fighting in battle. They clashed and Hashirama tried to talk to him. Tried to convince him to meet again, at first. Later, when they were leading their clans, to agree to his offers of peace.

 

Madara always ignored him, just as he disregarded those strange moments when time seemed to slow, when he appeared to know without words what Hashirama was thinking. He convinced himself they meant nothing. That the desperation he saw on his old friend’s face was nothing but a trick.

 

_“Don’t, brother. Don’t let them fool you.”_

 

Mundane things, like favourite foods, best ways to spend rare idle times or birthdays - they never had the chance to talk of those.

 

He has the urge to turn to Tobirama and demand him to tell just what he thinks he actually meant for Hashirama, as for the life of him, Madara has no clue. But of course he doesn’t do that. Walking to the grave side by side is more than awkward already.

 

“Hello, brother,” Tobirama says to the unyielding stone, once they are there. This startles Madara - he is certainly not ready to talk to someone not present, or listen to the white haired Senju doing it.

 

But after the greeting, the younger man remains silent and they just stand there, doing nothing, saying nothing. Madara stares at the dark marble, and wonders what the hell he’s doing at this place. There are so many things he could say to Hashirama, if he was still alive, but what could he say to the heaps of bones below their feet?

 

_Why have you done it? The Uchiha would have agreed to anything you wanted, after my death, you had to know that. Damn you for dying and leaving me here, alone. Damn you for forcing this twisted dream of ours on me. I never wanted it this way, without you._

 

Tobirama shifts next to him. Madara studies him from the corners of his eyes, so at least he has something to do. He’s standing with his head bowed, eyes fixed on the inscription of the stone. His mouth moves just barely, hardly noticeably. Apparently he has things to say to his dead brother. Probably he comes here frequently. That makes Madara feel even more out of place. Why is he even here? In this cemetery, in this village, pretending to be cooperating with Senju Tobirama, both of them struggling to play their roles for the sake of someone who’s no longer able to appreciate it.

 

*/*/*

 

“Just what kind of an idiot do you take me? Do you think I don’t see where this will lead?! You can go and stuff this botched up organisation up your...”

 

“The purpose of the _Military Police Force_ is to integrate the Uchiha further! I’m showing my good will by giving your people a position of respect!” Tobirama slams his fist down on the table in anger. His normally pale face is flushed, his calm lost, but Madara is too wired up himself to feel triumphant over it.

 

“ _A position of respect?!_ Who are you trying to fool, you Senju bastard?” Madara leans in from the other side of the desk, snarling at the Hokage. “Giving the Uchiha a job for which everyone can hate us? Something that only my clan will do - that’s _out of respect, it is?_ And not aiming to separate us, right?! _”_

 

The fragile, weird ceasefire between them was bound to last for only so long. Apparently they have reached their breaking point. Did Tobirama really think he could push something like this through behind his back? That he’ll just accept it without complaint?

 

He knows very well what the Senju thinks of his clan. He made it quite obvious that the only reason he’s ever allied with the Uchiha is because that was Hashirama’s last wish - or rather, his last order.

 

Even if he’s disappointed in his people, even if he feels betrayed by them - he’ll protect them from Senju Tobirama. They are too blind to see what can they expect from this man and they don’t understand Madara’s resistance. But he won’t give up on this cursed dream Hashirama died for.

 

So he’s here, in the other man’s house, even if he had to follow him, to see which his door is. He ignored the surprise on his face when he stormed in after him. Under other circumstances he’d be amused that Tobirama has a smaller version of the Hokage office at home, with a large desk and stacks of papers. Right now however he’s just glad for the somewhat familiar atmosphere it creates. It’s impersonal, and that makes easier to let his fury loose.

 

“It’s not my fault if people distrust you! I’m doing my best to integrate them,” Tobirama is baring his teeth as he snarls. His face is close enough to Madara’s to feel his breath. It would be very easy to draw the kunai always hidden in his sleeve, and thrust it into his throat in one smooth movement. It’s hard to resist such a tempting idea. “Our clans are supposed to build this village together, yet by the way your folk behave we could still live in our separate encampments. And you - you are the worst of them! Do you even know anyone by name in Konoha who’s not an Uchiha? What kind of peace is this? This is not cooperation! _This is not what my brother died for!”_

 

“Your brother dying,” Madara grabs the front of his shirt. _Why?_ Why shouldn’t he kill him? He’ll be out of this damned village, disappeared for good by the time anyone finds the corpse. Or he can burn the whole place down, to try to eliminate all traces of this failed pact with the Senju. With Hashirama dead, he’s the strongest remaining by far. Tobirama comes second, but even if he was chosen as the Hokage, he’s no match for Madara. Is there any reason really why he’s not doing it? “I have nothing to do with that! It was his own choice. It doesn’t bind me to do _anything_!”

 

Tobirama kisses him.

 

There’s a moment of shock when he can’t even react, but it passes quickly and he bites down on the other’s lips. He doesn’t know why, but he keeps him close, when he should shove him away.

 

In the next instant they are struggling, and that damned desk between them is not making coordination easier, not that Madara really knows what he’s trying to achieve.

 

He certainly never wanted to repeat that one-off, unpleasant and humiliating experience with the younger man, yet he finds himself being pushed back until he’s on his back on the table top, Tobirama, standing between his spread thighs, fumbling to drag his pants down.

 

Madara’s nails dig hard enough into his nape to draw blood when the Senju pushes two of his fingers inside him, trying to get him prepared maybe. There’s no finesse in his movements, they are hurried and clumsy, and Madara can’t even appreciate the attempt to try to make the experience less painful than it was on the previous occasion. This _has to be_ about the ache and the anger, as otherwise he has no idea what it is about.

 

“Just do it,” he growls and for the first time in remembrance, Tobirama simply obeys him.

 

There’s a sudden, sharp bolt of pain when the other man pushes into him, and even if he told him to do it, he takes vengeance with grasping his white hair, twisting it in his grip, hard as he can, aiming to tear them out.

  
Tobirama slams his fist down on the table, curses under his breath, but remains hunched over him, humping into him.

 

There are many downfalls to this position - if Madara keeps his eyes open, he’s forced to watch the Senju’s face, pale skin flushed, glance darkened over by some emotion, maybe lust, and he really doesn’t want to see him while he’s fucking him, while each jerky thrust of his hips feels like a knife is twisted in the end of his spinal cord. But if he closes them, that’s even worse, as it makes him appear vulnerable in front of the man he hates the most in the world.

 

So he keeps staring at him, trying to mask any emotion that might want to show on his face. Their glance locks, and he feels the other’s body shaking, his fingers digging painfully into Madara’s thigh. There’s loathing in his eyes, but desperation too, and that makes the Uchiha feel unnerved. He’s leaning in too close, his movements erratic.

 

“My brother died as he believed it was a small price for peace,” the Senju’s voice is low. It takes Madara a moment to realize he’s continuing where they left off their argument. It’s totally absurd, considering both of them are naked from the waist down and fucking on the desk.

 

“Shut up,” he hisses. He doesn’t understand how can he bring Hashirama up now, of all times. It would be too good to be truth for the bastard to obey him a second time.

 

“My brother died,” he continues as if he didn’t even hear him, “because he believed in _you._ He didn’t even…” he falters and Madara hopes he will keep quiet. The sound of slap of body against body is terrible enough, he doesn’t need Tobirama to make this unbearable.

 

“Harder,” he says when the Senju appears wanting to continue his monologue. Not because he wants it harder - he knows from the previous encounter’s experience that he’ll have pains for days after - juts to avoid the talking. He spends enough time recalling that fateful day. He won’t do it now. He twists a handful of the other’s hair again, pulling his head down for a kiss that is more of a bite, urges him to move with clutching his ankles behind his waist, raising his hips up.

 

“I hate you,” Tobirama gasps against him lips. “You damned, bloody bastard, I hate you,” he’s moving fast, hands balled into fists next to Madara’s head. “I…” he jerks his hips up sharply, then collapses on top of him, shivering with his orgasm.  “You took him away from me,” he mumbles so quietly that Madara can _almost_ pretend not hearing.

 

When he rolls off, Madara quickly slides down from the desk and drags up his pants. The trail of semen mixed with blood on his thigh and his half-hard prick is easy to ignore. Tobirama doesn’t bother with cleaning himself either. Both of them just want to get dressed apparently, to get back to normality.

 

If normality exists at all.

 

“Don’t think that we’re finished with our argument,” Madara warns, before turning on his heels and marching out.

 

*/*/*

 

Nobody else but Senju Tobirama would give a report to a grave.

 

Madara stifles an annoyed sigh, as he listens from his hiding place the white haired man droning on and on about incomes and expenses, of missions assigned, failures and successes, of political decisions.

 

He came to visit Hashirama’s grave on a sudden impulse. He doesn’t come to the cemetery often, but sometimes he likes to spend time here alone, enjoying the silence. As this time he already found the Senju occupying his spot, he decided to wait until he finishes. He didn’t want to appear to be scared away by him, but he also had no desire to meet him, so he kept silent, even concealing his chakra in case the other would be paying attention to that.

 

But the bastard just doesn’t want to finish and leave finally. If there’s any spirit lingering around the moral remnants of men, if the dead can see and hear the living, Hashirama is surely bored out of his otherworldly mind. Would he be interested, even if he was alive, in details such as the number of civilians submitting their request to inhabit Konoha the last week, or the cost of missions versus the income they produced?

 

It’s very annoying how Tobirama keeps talking. It’s too mundane, it’s too familiar for Madara’s taste. He even pauses from time to time, as if wanting to give Hashirama a chance to answer. He pretends having a conversation with him, probably like they used to have. Madara, who didn’t have the chance past their fourteenth birthday to really talk to his once-friend, is not amused by this at all.

 

“That’s about it, brother,” he says at long last. “Everything is in order, going as planned.” He still hesitates, while Madara is grabbed by the urge to scream at him to finally leave. “No, actually… there is one more thing. And with that I don’t really know what to do. How would you… but no, I don’t think you’d be bothered by it. But with me it’s very different. I… Would you hate me for doing this with him? It’s not as if we even like each other. It’s not as if it would make me forget you, or the way he tricked you to your death. I’ll never forgive him for that. But I know how important he was for you. I’m trying, for your sake, to get along. I don’t always succeed. And when we… when that thing happened… Brother, you’ve always told me that I think too much, and I should rather just feel, but I can’t really manage it. I just hope you don’t resent me for what I did with him.”

 

He finally leaves. Madara waits for a bit to make sure he’s gone for good, before walking up to the grave.

 

“I despise you,” he tells the cold marble. “I loathe your whole clan, but you - I despise. I should have never talked to you. We should have never been friends, we should have never planned this village. We should have never gone against our fate to be enemies. It’s easy for you - dying is always easy. It’s staying alive that is damn hard. You idiot, you misguided martyr… did you think there will be peace after you died…? Those grand words of yours…”

 

_“After my death, do not kill Madara. Uchiha and Senju must not fight each other ever again.”_

 

“If it’s up to me and your brother, we will forever be enemies. We can pretend otherwise only for so long. You’ll see - you died in vain.”

 

*/*/*

 

They have an arrangement, or maybe just a behavioural pattern set. After all, falling into habit is such an easy thing to do.

 

It goes like this.

 

They deal with the issues of the village together. Tobirama, as the Hokage, makes the decisions, Madara, as the second in command gives advices. When it is about missions, finances, the relationship with the Lords of Land of Fire or the delicate, pull-and-bear politics with the other countries, forming shinobi villages or independent, but worth-to-notice clans, there are surprisingly small number of cases they disagree on.

 

When it is about the issues of their own clans however, they are bound to argue. Most often the arguments degenerate into personal insults, tearing up old wounds and regrettable decision of the past.

 

When the tension is just about to become downright unbearable, they’ll fuck. After all of the occasions, they go back to normal operation.

 

“This is crazy,” he tells the other man on one day. Tobirama stills his movements, so Madara grabs his sleeves - they never bother with proper undressing, foreplay or going to the bedroom - and urges him on.

 

“It is,” he agrees, knowing exactly what Madara is talking about. He’s still moving slower than usual.

 

“We will stop this,” the Uchiha states, with confidence he doesn’t feel. “You are really terrible in this anyway, so this is the last time we’re doing this.”

 

“I thought this wasn’t about pleasure,” he frowns and actually appears offended. Pouting doesn’t suit him at all, it makes him look softer, younger, someone’s who’s approachable, someone whose feelings should be considered.

 

Madara doesn’t like it. He doesn’t care about the Senju’s emotions, his age - he doesn’t even know how old he is, three or four years younger than Madara is probably, but asking about it would be just unnecessary - or what he thinks about fucking him and what he wants to get out of this whole situation.

 

So he just grunts as an answer, leaving it up to Tobirama to decide how he interprets it, a noise of agreement, or simply discomfort of having his cock up his arse.

 

The next time, when they have already shouted their throats raw over Tobirama’s idea of moving the Uchiha compound to the outskirts of the village and Madara is about to reach for the clasp on his pants - because it’s either that or shedding blood -  the Senju grabs his wrist and stops him.

 

“Didn’t you say we’re not doing this again?” his voice is rough and shaky, and it infuriates Madara that he’s reminded of his own words. That he is actually making an attempt to put an end to their sessions. As if Madara wouldn’t be getting even less out of it than he does.

 

Still, when he wants to pull his hand back, Tobirama doesn’t let him go. When he snarls and calls him a fool, he yanks Madara close and kisses him.

 

For a moment he allows it. It’s much tenderer than anything they’ve done before, and for some obscure reason, Madara finds it hard to react the right way. It’s probably simply the shock - he was unprepared for this. He quickly gathers his wits and shoves the bastard back, hard.

 

“Just what is your game?” he’s right in his face. They are in the Senju’s workroom - their usual place for getting rid of their frustration and aggression. Its impersonality is fitting for what they are doing. “Either do it or say no, but make up your mind. I don’t need kisses.”

 

“I thought...” for a moment uncertainty is showing on the younger man’s face, before it’s replaced by the usual cold anger. “You're mad! I know that all your kin is, but you’re the worst of it all! I just wanted to change this a bit - I’m sick of you coming to me for pain.”

 

Madara is not looking for pain, he’s looking for oblivion. He also assumed it’s the same with the Senju. However he doesn’t want to discuss it, not now, nor ever.

 

“Don’t give that to me,” he growls. “With what you think of me - and what I think of you - why would I look for anything else?”

 

Tobirama moves as if touch him, or hit him, he doesn’t know. He shoves his hand away, and they are struggling, hitting and cursing the other, terrible like that first time, not for the blows he gives and receives, but for the confusion and frustration of not understanding what is going on.

 

Tobirama grabs his wrist to twist it behind his back and pushes him face first against the wall. Madara could easily free himself, but he doesn’t. He feels the younger man’s erection pressing against his backside. He laughs, cruel and mirthless.

 

“And you say you don’t want to cause me pain? Who are you trying to fool? If you had the power, you’d kill me. How hard it would make you, watching me bleed to death? But you missed your one chance, Tobirama. Hashirama stopped you.”

 

_“Madara…This is the end.”_

 

_“Wait, Tobirama.”_

 

_“But why, brother?! This is our chance, isn’t it?”_

 

_“I won’t allow you to lay a hand on him!”_

 

He remembers Hashirama’s face. Never, in their previous, desperate battles did he look anything like that. He looked ready to defend Madara no matter what the cost, against the whole world if needed, against his own clan. Against his own brother.

 

Yet, he didn’t believe that expression that time.

 

“My brother,” Tobirama growls, “was a good man. I’m not like him, at all,” his body is hard and strong behind Madara, his grip bruising on his wrist. His tone, however, is desperate. “I know that he’d be… so disappointed in me, for doing this with you - to you. I just…”

 

“Shut up, now,” Madara warns on low tone, looking back over his shoulder. He’s sure that neither of them wants to have this conversation, but Tobirama doesn’t appear to hear him. He has a painful, faraway expression on his face.

 

“He’d always chosen you before me, ever since he met you. There was nothing I could do, to get him back.”

 

“You were his brother,” whether he means it as an accusation or as comfort, he doesn’t even know.

 

“Yet he always loved you more.”

 

He frees himself now and turns fully to face him. He doesn’t want this. He’s not interested in Tobirama’s regrets, grief, longings. Knowledge is power, yet he wants to shy away from it. He is too used to dwell in his own private hell - he doesn’t want to consider the Senju human enough to know about his suffering, he doesn’t want to allow him in. He doesn’t care if he misses Hashirama just as much Madara does. He doesn’t want him to talk - he just wants to fuck, to hurt each other, and focus on that, rather than the pains lying so much deeper down.

 

Tobirama, of course, doesn’t care what he wants, and keeps talking.

 

“I could never comprehend how could he chose you - how could he kept on believing in you, when all you did was rejecting him.”

 

“We were in war,” Madara snarls. “I had no other choice.”

 

“You tell yourself that, but we always have a choice. Just where Hashirama decided that you’ll live, cost what it costs, you refused to hear him, to see him. I could do nothing, to deter his attention from you. He loved you…”

 

Madara hits him. Blood starts to run from Tobirama’s nose, it smears his pale skin and Madara’s knuckles. He staggers half a step back, before Madara catches him and kisses him. Anything to shut him up. His nails claw the other’s face, tears his clothes as he drags him down on the floor, pushes him on his back and straddles his hips.

 

“Stop this! He was my enemy. His kin killed my kin. _You_ killed Izuna. _I had no choice!”_ his voice rises, higher pitched that usual. He’s screaming and Tobirama yells right back.

 

“Anyone else would have recognized the worth of his affection! Yet all you did was telling him to kill himself! _To prove himself!_ ”

 

“How could have I known he’d do it?!”

 

“Were you blind?! Didn’t you see the way he looked at you?”

 

“The way _you_ wanted him to look at you, is that it?!”

 

“I was his brother.” It’s impossible to tell if he means it as defence or self-blame. Madara is so sick of this. He is used to keeping everything to himself. Even when Izuna was still alive, there was only so much he shared with him. Definitely nothing ever on Hashirama. And since he died - by the hands of this man, who he’s sharing this insanity with - he’s never confided in anyone.

 

When Tobirama tries to get up, he doesn’t even think twice about activating his Sharingan. Caught unaware, he easily captures the other man in a genjutsu.

 

He wants oblivion, yes, but even more he wants revenge. He also wants this to be finished - now, with so many things out in the open, the way they keep tormenting the other and their own selves -  why not top it This reality is already hell, so let’s make it as terrible as they can.

 

He makes Tobirama see his brother for a last time. The struggle against his eye technique suddenly stops when Hashirama appears in his place. Madara is dimly aware how Tobirama’s body lays laxly under his, while his mind is firmly caught in illusion. This is the perfect torture - for both of them.

 

“You wanted to see me like this, Tobirama?” Hashirama asks. His tone is deep, a bit throaty - the way Madara remembers it, from those times he pleaded for peace on the battlefields.

 

_“I have sent you a ceasefire agreement! If you want to protect the Uchiha, then let’s stop this fight!”_

 

“Brother…” the younger Senju whispers. There’s something very painful in his voice.

 

“You wanted me to look at you, and only you, is that it? You kept telling me I should not trust the Uchiha, didn’t you? Told me all about the way they are. How much truth was in there? Or was it just jealousy, my little, only brother?”

 

Tobirama raises his palm and cups the older man’s face. They are so strikingly different, it’s hard to believe they are really siblings. Tobirama maybe resembles his brother in his height and build, with his wide shoulders and thin hips, the cut of his cheekbones and jaw, but the similarities end there. The contrast is sharp in their skin tones, the colour of their hair, their eyes – not just their shade, but even more what reflects in them. And they are so unlike in their personalities. There’s no trace in him of Hashirama’s open nature - did he laugh as easily as he’d used to, when they were kids? Madara has only ever seen him showing determination, desperation. He smiled though, saying _Thank you, Madara,_ when he was taking off his armour. When he bid _farewell,_ raising his kunai. And he looked peaceful, beautiful really, when he bore it down with that deadly strike.

 

 

So the Hashirama he created is like that too. Beautiful, determined, smiling. The cruel glint in his dark eyes - that is reflecting Madara’s feelings though.

 

“I wanted to you to be happy,” Tobirama whispers. He looks tormented. “I wanted you to forget him, yes, but for your own good.”

 

“My little brother,” Hashirama’s lips curl up in a sly grin. “What would have happened then? It would be now just the two of us? We’d rule over the Senju, the Senju ruling over the whole Land of Fire? And at night - we would lay like this, wrapped around each other? Is that your dream? Is that the dream you wanted to exchange mine to?”

 

“I would have never crossed that line,” Tobirama denies. He closes his eyes, but Madara doesn’t let him escape yet. Hashirama leans down, his hair tumbling forward, and kisses his brother. Gently first, lips barely moving against lips, but then with more passion, with tongue and teeth.

 

Disgust and desire twist Madara’s guts as Tobirama pulls his visionary brother close. It’s so wrong, the way he breathes shakily, the way he looks at him, with so much love and longing, but it makes so much sense.

 

“Tell me, brother. If you claim that we all have a choice,” Hashirama’s arm slides up on Tobirama’s side, touching bare skin. There’s no need to bother with undressing, not in this genjutsu, “what would you choose differently?”

 

The albino’s fingers closes around the older man’s wrist. They tremble slightly. He clings to him as if with that, he could make him become real.

 

“I’d kill myself rather. I’d choose death, so you could live. So you’d know at last what you meant to me.”

 

Madara makes the scene disappear.

 

They stare at each other, panting. There’s pain and longing, shame too, and the usual anger in the other's red glare. Madara feels victorious, revolted and very much turned on.

 

With Tobirama, there’s no need to even pretend to be gentle. They shed their clothes quickly and with minimal preparation - he could say he was taking lessons from the man lying underneath him - he pushes into the willing body of the Senju. It’s slow at first - because he’s so tight that Madara can hardly move, and because he’s afraid he’ll just come straight away if he doesn’t compose himself first - but very soon they pick up tempo.

 

When Tobirama closes his eyes, he grabs his chin to make him look at him.

 

“He could have chosen to kill you. I wanted him to. You would have deserved it - for Izuna,” his words are underlined with the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, the way their bodies move together. “But we wanted to found this village to keep our brothers safe. He would have never allowed you to die. I didn’t know it then. But I know it now. Look at me!” he commands, when the younger man’s lids lower.

 

“You didn’t even know he’d die for you! You know nothing, Madara! I… saw you, the two of you. When we were children. The way he laughed with you. Sparred with you. Put his head together with you! All he wanted was to get that back.”

 

Madara grabs his thighs, pulling his legs up, until they are about to rest on his shoulders, leaning in, folding the Senju almost in half as he pounds into him.

 

“Then he was even more of a fool than I always thought him to be! There’s no getting back the past.”

 

“He was a fool!” Tobirama grabs his hair, dragging his head down. Their foreheads almost touch. Madara’s hips still move, slower now. His senses are overloaded, he’s light headed with fury, with those lost possibilities, with the lust of feeling that tight heat around his cock. “He was a fool for wanting, for always aiming for a better future. He talked about - how he wanted to get to know you again. How we have to come to peace. The unite between Senju and Uchiha…”

 

“Here, this is how that unity works! Just look at us.”

 

Tobirama actually utters a shaky laugh at that. Madara picks up speed again and doesn’t mind when the younger man closes his eyes this time. He does the same. He allows himself to picture Hashirama under him. To taste that different fate, how it would be if he was with the _right_ Senju. Then he locks that image away, along with his regrets, unfulfilled hopes and pointless longings. He opens his eyes, sees Tobirama arching his back, his fingers scraping against the floor, his mouth open in a silent cry as he comes, spraying both their chests with his semen. That’s enough for Madara, and he topples over his peak too, finding his release deep inside Tobirama. Spent, strength leaves his muscles for a moment and he collapses on top of the other man.

 

“And now what?” Tobirama asks him after a while. Madara sighs, rolls off him and sits up. He’s careful not to look at his face.

  
“Whatever comes… things hardy can get even worse.”

 

*/*/*

_TBC…_


	3. I know there is a way

_I know there is a way_

_My future is not set_

 

 

*/*/*

 

“This stone monument has been passed down for generations. It was never shown to other clans.”

 

From the corner of his eyes, Madara glances at Tobirama. He sent him a message to meet him at the newly built Naka Shrine after finishing at the office. He must have put more urgency behind his words than he really intended to, as the Senju obviously rushed here as soon as he could. He’s even wearing his official garbs still. That hat is in particular very annoying, it shadows most of his face.

 

Maybe because he thought Madara initiating any kind of communication with him, like sending a note, has to be the matter of life and death. After all, for over a month, they hardly talked to each other and even tried to minimalize the occasions they met. Since that _last time_ , Madara felt uneasy to be in the other’s presence, and surely it was mutual.

 

But something has to give. They are leading this village, their people together. It’s only so long they can avoid each other. They need to put things on a normal footing or they have to part ways for good. It took Madara a while to come to a decision.

 

Disappearing from Konoha holds more appeal. He can say he tried, for Hashirama’s sake, to stay and work for this village, even if it meant tolerating Tobirama. He tried and he failed – maybe it was a wrong idea all along, to follow the dream of his thirteen-year old self. He can hardly recall the boy he once was. He was tempted, so tempted to choose the easy way out. But it’s also a coward’s way.

 

“As far as I was able to decipher until now, what it says is: ‘ _Looking for stability, one god was divided into yin and yang. The action of the two opposing forces changed all things in nature.’_ This logic applies to anything. In other words… it says that if two opposing forces cooperate, real happiness can be obtained.However… there is another interpretation to it as well,” it tempts him, of course. He can clearly see the two paths he can chose from. The down-to-earth, daily grind that leading this village alongside Tobirama means, the quarrels, disputes, the history of hatred between them, what they probably will never be able to overcome.

 

That other path, still hidden in his future. Following it seems safe. It’s a lonely path after all, with nobody along to cause him grief. To exchange the dream of this village with it – he still thinks it could be his real dream.

 

“As there is always for these kinds of things. Let me get this straight, Madara. Are you saying this is about us?”

 

“Uchiha and Senju.”

 

“That’s how I meant it.”

 

“I’ve been thinking things through, Tobirama. The way we are. The ways our clans are. This village, our place in it, and I made my decision.”

 

“Which has something to do with your second interpretation, I guess?”

 

Madara frowns. That the Senju is being a smartass irritates him. He’s being shown something the Uchiha has always kept to themselves. Madara is taking the pains to explain his decision to him, yet he acts as if it’s nothing. But being pissed off is his natural state when dealing with him. Part of his mind keeps screaming at him for choosing to stay close to this man.

 

“Oh, don’t act as if you know anything. Or as if I know nothing. I’ve taken everything into consideration. This is _our_ village. We don’t have to like it, but the two of us built it on Hashirama’s dream. I’m not handling it over to you. I see where you’d take it, with your biased decisions. I see how you’d twist it, how you’d treat my clan, dishonouring Hashirama’s wishes. Listen to this, you bastard,” he raises his voice slightly, when Tobirama opens his mouth to interrupt him, and points a finger at him. “I don’t care what happened between us. I’m going to stay here, and fight every nuisance that I think you do wrong and when you’ll have enough and finally cast that ridiculous hat off, I’ll be the second Hokage.”

 

It might only be the play of the flickering torchlight, but he thinks he sees a smile on the younger man’s face. The next moment it’s gone and he nods slowly.

 

“It’s due time that you pick your tasks as my counsellor up, yes. For these last weeks, you’ve been awfully negligent. I’m happy if you won’t abuse your position further, and start to work.”

 

“You pompous fool. I’m going to make you wish you’ve never been voted as the leader. I’m not going to let you rest, until Uchiha and Senju will live nauseatingly peacefully next to each other.”

 

There’s that smile again, Madara catches it for sure this time. He feels inexplicably free of weights now that he made his decision, even if he’s not sure at all he made the right decision. But after this speech, there’s no way he could run off and leave Konoha on the hands of Senju, and it somehow simplify things.

 

He doesn’t know what Tobirama thinks of it all and how much he understood of what Madara left unsaid. There’s no argument coming from him. He casts one last, curious glance at the tablet, gives him another small nod, before turning to leave.

 

“See you in the office tomorrow morning then,” he calls over his shoulder. ”Be punctual.”

 

The bloody bastard.

 

 

*/*/*

 

Maybe because they were starting from hell, because they are through being horrible to each other and nothing they do can make it worse, but things actually start to improve.

 

Or it might be simply that they laid down all their cards. There are no secret, hidden agendas, suspected secrets left any more. They have given all their hatred and now something less violent starts to fill the void left in their wake.

 

They are who they are. They don’t like each other, but they can start to learn to tolerate the other.

 

In many aspects they are similar. Neither of them are good men, but they are hardworking, smart and powerful. Cruel if they need to be, and ready to fight for their people. Their connection to Hashirama binds them together, with an invisible, but strong thread.

 

For months they just stick to business, the matters of the village. As a show of trust, Tobirama gives him more authority, more room to make his own decisions. It’s all formal and awkward - like all of their recent communication - but Madara finds he actually appreciates the gesture.

 

They still argue, but they steer away from painful, personal matters. It never gets so heated that they’d be tempted to do more than just quarrel, and considering how their fights tended to end up in terrible, emotionally and physically painful sex, that’s for the best.

 

When Madara is not away on a mission, they often stay long in the office, working silently together. Tobirama doesn’t appear to have more of a private life then he does. He sometimes supervises the students of the newly formed academy - he even tells Madara once that if his duties would allow, he’d take a group as his apprentices. He even tries to encourage him to do so, saying _The Sarutobi boy is really promising,_ but the Uchiha just snorts at the suggestion. He doesn’t even teach the youth of his own clan, and he won’t start with some snotty kid, who’s not even his own blood. The Senju frowns when he tells him this, but doesn’t push it.

 

On one of those long nights, when everyone else left the building hours ago, Madara catches Tobirama looking at him. When he raises a questioning eyebrow at him, the Senju doesn’t turn his glance away.

 

“What it is?”

 

“Here,” the throws a scroll at him. Madara catches it in mid-air. “I’m curious what you think of it.”

 

He unrolls it carefully, although he’s not seriously expecting a trap. He recognises the neat, if somewhat cramped handwriting of the other man, having seen it on various documents plenty of times.

 

There’s a description of a technique laid down on the paper. A very complex, very well-thought one, a summoning so tricky that it takes Madara two reads to comprehend it fully. It’s quite brilliant, and quite horrible.

 

The Uchiha keeps a neutral expression when he looks up at the Hokage.

 

“I’m calling it Edo Tensei,” Tobirama says when the silence starts to get awkward.

 

“Fitting.”

 

“I’m afraid Hashirama was always more creative with his jutsu naming.”

 

“Super Katon Genjutsu Cutting Big Shuriken Double Drop Technique, eh?”

 

“Huh? What is that?”

 

“Never mind it.  About this Edo Tensei of yours… It’s quite something - if it works.”

 

“It does. It’s far from perfect yet - but it works,” which means he tried it already. Imagining how that test had to go sends a chill down on Madara’s spine. He knows very well, if he was the one who created this jutsu, what he’d use it for. He has no reason to assume Tobirama less cruel than him, less willing to go to the extreme.  

 

“Answer me this. Who did you…” he trails off, unsure whether he’s prepared to hear the truth.

 

“This is a weapon,” Tobirama says quietly. “Shinobi villages are forming in the other Counties too. We need to make sure that we can keep the upper hand. I’m not using it for… personal aims.”

 

“It brings the dead back.”

 

“It does. But… we did our fair share in bringing back _our_ dead already, didn’t we? I don’t need Edo Tensei for that.”

 

“I’m not sure I like it when you try to appear wise. Are you saying that you didn’t think about summoning Hashirama? Or…”

 

“Or bringing Izuna back, to torment you?”

 

“Or that, yes.”

 

“Of course I thought about it,” he sounds matter of fact. “But I’m showing you this, because I decided I never will. Whatever we may think of each other, we’re now allies. And painful as I find admitting it, you can actually use your brain. That’s why I’m asking what you think of it.”

 

Madara looks back at the scroll. The urge to burn it with a well-placed jutsu passed.

 

“Here,” he points it out on the parchment, “I have a suggestion for improvement.”

 

Tobirama comes to stand by his side, and looks down to the scroll, frowning. They are shoulder by shoulder, almost, but not quite touching. He’s taller than him by an inch or two. Funny how Madara never realized it before. He doesn’t seem pleased with the Uchiha finding a possible mistake, and it doesn’t take them two minutes to start to argue about the technical details.

 

“I give up for today,” Madara throws his hands up hours later. It must be well over midnight. “We can continue tomorrow, _if_ you’re willing to listen to what I say.

 

They walk out of the office together and part with a nod.

 

“Madara,” the Senju calls after him. “What was that Big Shuriken Double Drop Technique?”

 

“If you’re not smart enough to listen to my improvement ideas, the Super Katon Genjutsu Cutting Big Shuriken Double Drop Technique is definitely too complex for you to comprehend.”

 

“But what…”

 

“Tomorrow,” he cuts him off. Really, it’s the middle of the night, and all he wants to do is to sleep. He feels he’ll be able to do so tonight without the nightmares coming to haunt.

 

Who knows? Next day he might really tell the story of that afternoon spent with Hashirama. _If_ Tobirama will shut his mouth up and admit that he’s right about his suggestions on Edo Tensei.

 

*/*/*

 

“The fact that all the first Kage of the five major powers could gather here for this meeting… this is wonderful. I’m really grateful. Thank you,” Tobirama gives a somewhat stiffed bow of his head. In Madara’s opinion it’s still more than they deserve. The price of peace seems a bit too high if it means cooperating with the leaders of the other countries.

 

To varying degrees of how open they are about it, they all appear hostile. No wonder - Konoha is superior to them in power, in level of how organized they are, in the number of shinobi clans that allied to them. They all know that an agreement between them could only be temporary and of course they are suspicions that the strongest of them is suggesting it.

 

Very soon the negotiations turn into petty bargaining. Tobirama keeps his calm, only his shoulders get stiffer and stiffer, telling how he’s losing his temper. Madara, standing behind his back, entertains himself with imagining the best way to kill the Kages if – _when -_ it will come to that.

 

It’s only the Mizukage who could cause him any difficulties, but even he wouldn’t be a terribly serious threat.

 

The cheekiest, the Kazekage, is actually the weakest of them.

 

“If you don’t accept my conditions, I’m not going to sign the agreement!” he is claiming. “Our land is all sand, it has no productivity…”

 

_Well, that you could seize the protection of such an infertile country only, is not our problem, it is?_

 

The suggestion to ally forces against the Wind is not surprising. It’s _Hokage-dono’s_ reaction to it which is.

 

Tobirama stands up suddenly and smashes his fist against the table. The sudden noise shuts the bickering Kage up as they all turn towards him.

 

“In the past we’ve never needed to get along. We were protecting our own clans. Now we’re protecting our comrades, our allies, so fights are often unavoidable. We are forming villages - this is something that my brother dreamt about and he left that dream to us - to Madara-san and I - to carry out. We are still protecting our own, which is human nature. Today, even if our five country agreement goes smoothly, I’m actually not sure how long it will last,” he pauses for a moment, for the dramatic effect maybe, or simply to compose what he wants to say. All eyes are on him. “But I’m sure that my brother would have wanted more. Now, that I’m wearing the hat he should be wearing and have to listen to your argument, where it should be he sitting here, trying to reason with you, I’m starting to see the wisdom in his dreams. One day, in the future… I dream of a time when all shinobi will cooperate with each other. A time when everyone’s hearts will be together, regardless of their countries. That’s my - that is _our_ \- dream of a future.”

 

 

*/*/*

 

They celebrate the success of the negotiations with having sex that night. It’s just as surprising as Tobirama’s passionate speech was and the way it soothed the dispute. Maybe it simply shocked the other Kage to agree on signing the pact. Surely nobody was expecting such naiveté, so many emotions coming from the notoriously level-headed Hokage.

 

Madara wasn’t expecting it either, nor did he think he’d be moved by it. If anything, he should mock him for his grand words, tell him that he can keep on dreaming, but such a peace will never come true.

 

But he doesn’t. It’s incomprehensible, really. It must be the astonishment over thinking he can predict the Senju by now and finding that it’s now true in all cases.

 

Tobirama has more surprises for him still, it seems. Back in the room of the inn he turns to him, silent, his gaze intent, searching Madara’s eyes. Apparently he finds whatever he’s looking for, as he leans close and kisses him. Madara, who reckoned they will analyse the meeting and discuss further plans, is completely baffled.

 

Ever since that _genjutsu-incident,_ they carefully kept at arm’s length from each other. In all honesty, after what happened, Madara didn’t expect either of them would want much from the other. Yet, he returns Tobirama’s kiss. It’s all very down-to-business, no hesitation, no question asked of _do you mind if I…?_  Which is how it should be.

 

It’s different this time of course, still. First, they are not furious at each other, don’t want to cause and receive pain. Then they undress - not just bare the necessary parts for a quick fuck.

 

And there is foreplay.

 

“What…?” Madara starts to ask when Tobirama slides down between his legs. “Oh,” he adds without any eloquence, when the Senju, after the briefest of hesitation, takes his cock into his mouth. He manages to make him hard soon enough with his lips sliding down - surprisingly down - and up his shaft, his tongue playing with the slit at the top, his palm covering what his mouth doesn’t manage. Madara doesn’t think twice about opening this legs wide to give room to the Senju’s seeking fingers as they glide down on his thighs, over his balls, then circle his hole, pushing inside to make him ready.

 

“Have you been practicing?” he asks with a certain level of suspicion, rising up on his elbows when the other pulls back. He watches Tobirama trying to lubricate his member with spit and finds himself feeling impatient, waiting for him.

 

“I don’t like to be told I’m terrible in something,” the other replies with a frown. The only reason Madara doesn’t laugh at the image of him going to some unfortunate man, demanding to be let practicing the proper way to perform fellatio, is that he’s already above him, hiking up his hips and positioning himself for penetration.

 

“Nice to know my opinion matters,” he mutters rather. There’s a slower, less intense kind of pain when Tobirama pushes into him. It’s not pleasant, but really not unbearable either. Maybe they should use an ointment of some sort next time - if there will be a next time - as the dryness, the burn of the Senju’s cock in him is wilting his own erection. It’s less painful, but more embarrassing, the way Tobirama moves slowly, obviously trying to cause him the least discomfort and the way he searches his eyes. Madara has half the mind to suggest that they stop, or that they switch places - he can clearly recall that last time, the way the younger man arched under him in his orgasm, and he thinks he would like to see it again - but then Tobirama shifts, pushing into him in a different angle, brushes a spot inside him that ignites all Madara’s nerve endings and shakes his body with pleasure.

 

He gasps, pushing back to meet the Senju’s next thrust, wanting that feeling again.

 

“That’s it,” Tobirama says smugly, as if he’s putting a checkmark on one of his bloody to-do-lists he always wants to enforce on Madara at work. The Uchiha grabs his hair roughly to drag his head down and kisses him, bites him and now they really start to fuck, and it’s fast and hard, but enjoyable too.

 

For the first time Madara understands what people enjoy about this act. Their bodies moving against each other are meant to feel pleasure and cause pleasure, without second motives, without wanting to see the other suffering. Without his usual cynical frown, Tobirama’s face is less hostile. The permanent, scarlet battle marks, his thin, reddish eyes, his pale skin and hair still give him a savage appearance, but it fits him. Or maybe Madara just got used to it. He doesn’t mind seeing his face from so close, he welcomes his touches, the sensation of his muscled, powerful body moving above him, the feel of his cock deep inside him.

 

This time, for the first time, sex is only about the two of them, not their clans, their hurts, their village, not even about Hashirama. Madara can look at his partner without feeling disappointed for not seeing tanned skin, long, dark hair and a warm smile.

 

He pulls on Tobirama’s short, fair hair, urging him on. It’s soft under his fingers. Bites into his shoulder, into warm skin and taunt muscles when he reaches between their bodies, to grab Madara’s cock to tug on it. Bites even harder when orgasm suddenly rushes through him, to suppress a whimper that wants to escape his lips.

 

He comes, and it seems to last for a long time until he gets down from the waves of pleasure. His pulse is pounding loud in his ears and he’s feeling a bit too sensitive, yet it gives him a distinct kind of pleasure, watching Tobirama as he hunches above him, as his eyes close then open wide when he reaches his peak too, as he releases his seed inside his body. He keeps his gaze locked on Madara.

 

The Uchiha allows himself a few minutes to just lay on the bed, before he gathers his wits about himself and goes to the bathroom to clean up. There’s almost no blood this time. Tobirama might need more practice still, but he’s on the right track. It’s possible that Madara will help him with getting more experienced.

 

*/*/*

 

Madara represses an impatient sigh. From time to time this happens - he comes to the cemetery, just to find Tobirama already in front of the grave and has to wait for the younger man to finish giving his report to his dead brother. He always waits, because he won’t be scared off and because at the end there’s sometimes things said that’s worth eavesdropping.

 

It’s just very frustrating to wait for him getting over the figures. How and more importantly why does he keep something like monthly tax incomes from weapon shops in mind?

 

“That’s about it, brother,” he says his usual parting words at last. “Everything seems to be in order. Since the pact of peace was signed with the other countries, we’re doing better than ever,” a pause. “You might also want to know that Madara and I… are doing better too,” he sounds awkward, as always when he starts to speak about more personal matters. It’s amusing to picture him and Hashirama talking, the older Senju all smiles and chit-chat, the younger so stiff and formal, yet wanting to break that barrier between them and be really open. He understands from the few tales Tobirama started to tell about his brother, that it was indeed like that with them. “We still argue of course,” the man continues to tell the grave “and I guess we will never _like_ each other, but we have… an understanding, maybe. A common ground. I, sometimes, on, erm, special occasions, even enjoy his company. I still miss you, and I think he misses you too. But we’re managing. I think you’d be happy with that.”

 

He touches the curve of the gravestone gently, before turning to leave. Madara moves a bit too early - Tobirama’s steps falter for a briefest of moments, a sign that he noticed his presence, but he doesn’t turn around and the Uchiha decides he won’t be bothered by it.

 

“He’s never going to say it out loud to you I guess,” he tells Hashirama. “Just keeps beating around the bush. We’re, for lack of a better word, lovers.” He pauses for a moment, rolling the term around his mind. It sounds strange, but not as alien as he thought it would be. “You wouldn’t mind it, would you? For all his faults, his biased, terrible personality, I’m sure you loved your brother. And he seems to think you loved me too. If that’s true… well, it means you had a terrible judgment on which people you should waste your attention on. But also that you’d want us to be… happy. Or at least not as miserable as we used to be.”

 

He mimics Tobirama’s gesture and touches the stone. It is warmed by the autumn sun. Hashirama’s birthday is coming up. They might come to visit together with Tobirama again, and stand here awkwardly, silently side by side. They can make a tradition out of it.

 

“I’m so new to this, you know. Moving on. I always kept my hurts and losses close. They gave me strength, a reason to go on. It’s very hard to let the past go. Your brother struggles with it too. He killed Izuna. You killed yourself when I gave you that ultimatum. There’s no way we could forgive or forget, but we can, or at least we can try to, look forward rather than back to the past all the time. That’s what we attempt now. The two of us, we’re the _previous_ generation. We knew the other era. We knew you. You inherited your will to us and now we try to make the best we can out of it, to form this new age. Ironic, but nobody will be so close to me as he is. We have too much in common. He hates it as much as I hate it.”

 

There’s a sudden blow of wind, carrying fallen leaves. Madara catches one of them. It has a small crack in the middle, so he raises it before his eyes and looks at the grave through it. _The Past Hidden Behind the Leaf._

 

“I still wonder how it would be if I stopped you that day. The two of us would have founded this village as we planned. Maybe we would have rebuilt our friendship. Maybe we would have become even more than just friends. I can’t know for sure, can I? Maybe I would have left long ago. There’s a second translation to that tablet, you know? I never told what it was about to your brother. I still think it’s important. Maybe I would have followed it, if I haven’t thought I need to stay here and supervise what Tobirama is doing.”

 

He lays the leaf down on the grave. To prevent the wind from blowing it away, he weighs it down with a pebble, a smooth, round one. It makes him wonder if Tobirama knows how to skip stones. He probably could beat him in it and frustrate the hell out of him. He’d go and practice until his fingers start to bleed and try to best Madara for the second try. The thought makes him smile.

 

“I hope that if you’re watching us from somewhere you feel reassured how much better we’re faring now than we used to, after your death. On that note - I hope you are not watching when we’re having sex. Don’t think that I don’t remember how you tried to check me out when I was peeing. Your family is full of perverts, and I definitely can’t…you know. If I feel someone watching me from behind…But this is not what I came to talk about.”

 

He pauses. He keeps rambling, although he visited the grave with a purpose today. He’s not sure if anyone is listening, if there’s any spirit of a man once called Senju Hashirama around to care about his words – so he decided he’ll just say what he wants for his own sake. In the name of getting rid of old thorns. He’s getting better in it and here, at the silent cemetery, these things seem easier to do. But even if he convinces himself that nobody is listening to his monologue, he needs to take a deep, solidifying breath to continue.

 

“There’s something I’ve wanted to tell you for a while. I came to say thank you, actually. Thank you for not giving up on our dream even when I already did. Thank you for not giving up on _me._ Thank you for your faith that your brother and I can carry on without you, that we will be able to build a better future. Thank you for coming up to me that day by the river. Thank you for smiling so often and for those precious few occasions when I could feel so carefree. I’m happy that I knew you, Senju Hashirama.”

 

Tobirama is waiting for him outside the graveyard. Madara shoots him a curious look as he falls in line with him, to walk by his side. He doesn’t seem inclined mentioning how Madara _happened to_ overhear him.

 

“You could come over to my place,” he says mildly.

 

“I finished work for today,” he glances at him from the corner of his eyes.

 

“Not to work. Just for talk and… company.”

 

“You’re breaking the rules. This is not how we do it.”

 

“Even people like us can change, don’t you think?” Is he being sarcastic, Madara can’t tell for sure.

 

“What an… uplifting thought,” to be sure, he keeps his tone biting. It doesn’t seem to have the usual effect. Maybe he’s losing his touch, if he can’t even annoy the other man when he wants to, any longer.

 

“So?”

 

“Why not,” he shrugs, as it doesn’t actually sound like a bad plan. Tobirama is smart enough to have a decent conversation with - even if it is bound to turn into an argument - and that _company_ part, as he calls it… well, that is pleasant as well. “But first… do you know how to skip stones?”

 

“Of course I do!”

 

“Then I challenge you. The river is right here, a few minutes’ walk. Let’s see if you can reach the other side.”

 

“I’m the _Hokage!_ I can’t be seen playing a children’s game with you!”

 

“Are you chickening out? Afraid that you’ll lose?”

 

Tobirama glares at him. Madara bows his head, so his hair falling in front of his face will cover his smile.

 

“You can get your pitiful Uchiha self ready for a humiliating defeat.”

  


*/*/*

**FIN – _thank you for reading!_**

*/*/*

 

_The bittersweet taste of fate_

_We can't outrun the past_

_Destined to find an answer_

_A strength I never lost_

_I know there is a way_

_My future is not set_

_For the tide has turned_

_But still I never learned to live_

_without regret._

  
_Anathema: Regret_


End file.
